Words That We Couldn't Say
by hanyoupup
Summary: How will Fang cope with losing something that he didn't know he needed in the first place? How could Max possibly help him without knowing how to help herself? :Fax:
1. Voice

Hello. I doubt anyone here in the Maximum Ride fandom recognizes me; I've only written one story for the flock so far (Flight, a oneshot, a while back). Not for lack of love though -I absolutely adore MR. So, to that end, here we have my first chaptered story here. Please enjoy.

Note: The idea for this story sort of floated to me randomly. Tbh, I think Patterson very masterfully created all his characters, but Max and Fang as _separate_ entities are simply amazing. They are such complex, diverse characters on their own, but when combined they become even moreso, while hardly exchanging any common 'social' confrontations. I wanted to test the limit of that with this story.

Final note: The song lyrics you will see at the bottom of this chapter, along with the story title, come from a song composed by Yoko Kanno and sung by Steve Conte called _Words that we Couldn't Say_. It's a very beautiful song that I feel captures a lot of the essence of Max and Fang's relationship period, let alone in this fanfic, so please give it a listen.

Disclaimer: _Maximum Ride_ and all characters contained there within belong to James Patterson. I do, however, take sole responsibility of this plot.

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**Words That We Couldn't Say**

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**Chapter One**

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**Voice**

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_Voice: n. The condition or effectiveness of the voice for **speaking**._

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We've been traveling without any real rest for a couple of days now. It was almost a month after the Antarctica incident and I couldn't be happier to be here in middle America, (relatively) safe and (relatively) warm. I say this because we are never fully safe and neither are we ever very warm.

Take right now, for instance. It was starting to rain.

Okay, well _pour_ would probably be a more accurate way to put it, but I've never been one to over-embellish. Unlike some people.

Nudge and Iggy were arguing with each other, which is what they've been doing with most of their spare time lately. I don't know if it is because she is getting older, or he is getting older, or maybe both, but they've been at each others' throats constantly, despite all the rest of our best efforts to calm them. Well, most of the rest of us. Some of us, and by that I mean one of us, finds it inevitable that they bicker and thinks I'm overreacting. Know who?

As if any of you hadn't already guessed Fang.

He's been really into his blog lately, but even more surprising, he's been tentatively pushing me to see if we could out ourselves in public. He's been real talkative lately. A real chatterbox.

And surprisingly enough, I'm _not_ being sarcastic.

See, he wants to take our fight for the environment (which I am not even entirely sure is the fight for the world) a step further and try to host conventions. Or something. I don't know the details really because it a'int gonna happen.

I don't want to sound closed-minded or anything, but there is no way the public would take to us as well as he seems to think they will. But whatever, it's not that much of an issue. Yet.

So right now finds us passing over small town in mid-Oklahoma, Owasso. Earlier this afternoon we'd set out from Springfield, Missouri. Both of which, I'd come to learn, were unfortunate locations. When in Springfield, where we'd stayed for a night at a dinky motel, Gazzy spent the vast majority of the night either singing the theme song to The Simpsons or quoting the show. I spent the night alternating covering my ears with a musty pillow and wondering how he knew _exactly_ what Homer any particular episode.

Which was still better than when we entered Oklahoma.

I am almost positive we've probably flown over this particular state before, but for whatever reason (probably because (religious deity of your choice) hates me and wants me to suffer) Nudge had _just_ remembered the words to the musical _Oklahoma!_. So she, and therefore Angel and Gazzy, who never passes up a chance for a sing-a-long, had been singing for a good forty minutes, along with Total citing various points of reference of theater, before I called it off.

Right, so on to other interesting things (not that my unending need for aspirin is not interesting);

Powers!

Well, sort of!

There have been no _new_ powers manifesting themselves, but some of the ones already around have changed a little bit.

I'm finding that when I test myself, each time I 'super-speed' I can go a bit faster. It's pretty cool. So I guess, since when I first became a smudgy line in the sky I could reach around 220mph, now the speedometer might peg me at, oh say, over _300_. Yikes.

Nudge has been practicing with her 'Attraction-Power', as she calls it, at every chance she gets. I forbade her from using it in the sky for fear that she might send one of us falling or manage to cause a Boeing 737 to come careening at us. But in terms of growth, she can pull things from longer distances and is getting a lot better at fine-tuning it.

Iggy has been calling her Magneto which, now that I think about it, might be the cause of some of their fights.

Speaking of the blind-birdkid, he's been able to see white more clearly. Or, maybe I mean he can see the contrast of white more clearly. Iggy's eyesight (or lack thereof) confuses me, but he's been thrilled that, if given a piece of regular white paper, he can make out what's written on it. And even more awesome - he doesn't need light to do so.

Angel seems to have been confused with all her powers, but has been morphing a lot. She can't change into much yet, but it's fun to watch her try.

Not that she needs any more powers...

And Gazzy is only too happy to 'practice' his gift as often as possible. Much to our dismay.

That leaves us, again, with Fang.

Just as I predicted, he's been uber annoying with his power. Sometimes I think he legitimately vanishes on accident, because that's just the kind of person that he is, but most of the time it's to scare someone (generally me) out of their mind.

And speaking of minds, it would seem he may have another power...maybe.

With Angel around, we've all gotten pretty good at blocking her out if need be. Not that I don't love the blond fluff-ball, but I think there is a reason that peoples heads are made _private_. And she is still just a little kid; they're all about invading personal space. So, if need be, I can manage keep her out.

According to Angel, to listen to a particular mind she has to focus on it or she won't hear anything substantial from anybody. I'd asked her if it was like tuning a radio and she'd laughed, agreeing. Then, when I asked her what she heard when we were blocking her, she'd continued with my analogy and described it as the space between radio-stations. When it's almost all fuzz and static and too annoying to listen to, but if you did you might hear a word or two. (I wondered what she might have heard when we thought we were keeping her out...)

Lately, with Fang, she can't hear a single thing.

At first she'd asked him how he did it, but he'd looked genuinely confused (for him, that was maybe a raised eyebrow) and had no idea what she was talking about. Turns out he can't control it; Angel can't reach his mind anymore.

So was that a new power? A leveled-up blocking system? The bird-boy version of the busy-signal? Dunno. You tell me.

Back to the current; it was really coming down, and windy and cold to boot. As a general rule of thumb we, and most other winged creatures, try to avoid flying in storms. But I was hoping to make good time and make it to Atlus today...

Fang was not happy at all.

He flew over to me and started to ream me out in the way only Fang was able to do.

"We've been flying for hours straight." He said flatly. Duh, I'm included in that 'we'.

I didn't answer.

"We're soaked and hungry." Yeah, once more, me too. But it would just be another hour or so till we hit Oklahoma City. We could stop there.

"Max! You're going to give Angel pneumonia if this keeps up!" He yelled. He probably wouldn't have done that normally, but like I said, he's become real verbose lately and the wind and rain drowned out his voice from the kids.

Still, Fang hardly ever raised his voice and I was mildly shocked. I don't think it registered on my face much, but Fang has always been able to read me like a book, so he probably knew.

He sighed deeply and craned his head heavenward, and I could tell, even with his eyes closed, that he was begging for patience. When I saw him look back at me from the corner of my vision, he seemed more calm.

"Look. Let's just give it a rest tonight. I know you're eager to get back to the mission and all, but they're still kids. You gotta them have a break every once in a while."

All too true. And Atlus was still a good hour away in good weather.

But I've never been one for compromise. I've also never been one for giving in, especially when it means giving in to my second-in-command's idea.

"Five minutes." I spat, unsure whether I was angry with Fang or angry for being unable to get as far as

I wanted or angry with myself for not being able to let people _help _every so often.

He glowered at me, his black, black eyes screaming. "You can't always have it your way, Max." he said, his words frigid like ice. "You're too damn stubborn."

I glowered back.

I knew he wanted to say something else, but he snapped his mouth shut with an audible click, grit his jaw so tightly that I could see the muscles bunch up, and fell back.

Good. Suited me just fine.

Now, though, I was miserable from the wet and cold, miserable from my headache, and even more miserable from being so miserable all the time. Terrific.

I scouted ahead a bit, looking for a place, preferably dry, that we could crash. I could feel six sets of eyes on my back, but ignored it.

It was more like four minutes by the time that I saw a teensy lean-to in the middle of some woods, a little out of the way of a hardly beaten trail. It looked like it was once used to store recently cut wood, to allow it to properly dry. If we got lucky maybe there would be a few logs left.

We weren't lucky. I should have figured; we never are.

We landed and made camp, which is a pretty easy job when there is no fire to start. The small shed only had a front and back wall, leaving the sides open. It was thankfully relatively dry and put us out of the reach of the pelting rain, but the leaves inside were still slick and it was still cramped. Definitely no Marriott suite here.

It was actually getting to be on the late side and under the thick black clouds it was so dark I could hardly see how tired Angel's smudged face looked.

I briskly handed out food -a Nutragrain bar and can of Chef Boyardee for everyone, and turned out the conversation made between everyone, myself and Fang discluded. I was sitting at the edge of our group, pretending to listen and nodding my head every time Nudge looked over at me expectantly, which was more than what Fang was doing. He opted to stew outside under the low branches of a large tree. Maybe that would cool him down some.

After enough time had passed I took first watch and the flock hunkered down after stacking fists. Fang sort of held his fist out at everyone from his position and everyone -sans moi obviously- acknowledged it and got comfortable; Nudge and Angel leaning up against each other, Total spread across their combined laps, Iggy laying out, his long legs bet a bit at the knee to accommodate his height and Gazzy nestled across from him, his own legs crossing over Iggy's.

I decided to sit on the roof of this dump. After testing it -it would be kind of lame if the whole thing fell on my flock on my watch- I sat myself on the corner.

I wasn't a pansy, I didn't care if I was getting drenched. Besides, the rain felt nice. Brisk on my hot skin. Not the 'oh god what is happening to me' hot, but just the regular kind, which was refreshing in its own right.

I just didn't get what Fang's damage lately was. Even now, I doubted he was sleeping. Would it kill him to obediently listen to me and go to bed so we could make more tracks tomorrow?

Yeah, the way shivers ran down my spine, which had nothing to do with the rain. He was down there staring at me all right. Probably restraining himself from dismembering me in my sleep.

Why did he have to be so difficult? Iggy was only a few months younger than him and he seemed perfectly content with things, so what was different about Fang?

Of course I knew. Fang himself. Fang was different. Fang was different from _everyone_. He always was. The quiet one, the stoic one. I never really cried; when I was younger, if I got seriously injured I'd just yell a lot. Not in the 'aaaah' way, in the 'You stupid friggin tree I'm gonna kill you!' way. Unless the kids weren't around, in which case I'd curse up a blue streak.

Fang never did any of those things. He'd get hurt, he'd shatter a bone, and he'd be almost unfazed. Maybe a grimace, but that was it. And if no one asked or noticed, you could bet your bottom dollar that he wouldn't tell anyone. Even me.

So I wondered if that was how he wanted to live, even now. We've all grown, maybe Fang didn't want to be the unemotional rock of our family. I mean, he knew we didn't consider him that, not really, but to some extent it has always been true. It would be so hard for him to ease himself out of the comfortable little niche he's been in for so long.

In case you didn't know, being on watch isn't just like, 'Oh, free time. Cool. Lemme write in my diary '. While that would have been awesome (the free time, not the diary thing. While the wordy expression of mushy feelings is a-okay in my book, I'd prefer to keep it in a form that couldn't be obtained by people -ranging from bratty little kids to diabolical evil scientists- thanks) it was not conducive for keeping our environment safe. So when I was over-analyzing the soap-opera of my life in my head, I should have been, you know, _watching_.

Which is how I totally botched up stopping the event that was going to change our lives forever.

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_We couldn't say them,  
So now we just pray them,  
Words that we couldn't say._

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There we go. It's a start. Basically, the whole story is going to focus on Max and Fang / hurt and comfort. Anyway, I have everything all mapped out and stuff, plus more chapters written, so please review and tell me what you think bbs~!

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~hanyoupup


	2. Speak

I feel I got a good reception for the first chapter, especially considering it was a _first_ chapter and mainly because, even as far as first chapters go, it was dull. Nothing happened. So I was super excited to write this chapter. I never realized how much I like writing fight scenes until I started writing MR fanfiction.

Yeah, I know this is pretty much my first posted one, but I've been writing 'em for quite a while. I don't like posting them till I have a lot written, but basically; I once read someone say that it was really difficult to find any decent AU non-highschool MR fanfictions. And I guess yeah, that's true. So I've been writing them. And writing them and writing them. Fun stuff. Keep an eye out.

Enjoy the chapter.

Disclaimer: _Maximum Ride_ and all characters contained there within belong to James Patterson. I do, however, take sole responsibility of this plot.

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**Words That We Couldn't Say**

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**Chapter Two**

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**Speak**

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_Speak: v. to utter words or articulate sounds with the ordinary voice; to **talk**_

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I guess it goes without saying that I am one of the least lucky people in the world. I've seen those prime-time shows on tv. The ones where the kids gush to each other about how _horrible_ and _terrible_ their lives are because mommy and daddy took away their keys or grounded them or something. Or because Bobby didn't like Suzie back or because they didn't get the color iPod they wanted.

Wah, wah. I think that if I were given the opportunity to make a television show vaguely based on my life, I'd want my show to be _realistic_. I mean, were Bobby and Suzie realistic? I dunno, that's not _my_ real at least. And my real could kick their real's ass.

And currently, my real could very well kick my _own_ ass.

My inner-bird-kid told me I'd been on watch over three hours -getting into Fang's shift, but hey, I wasn't about to wake him up anytime soon, not after the horrible feeling of his eyes on me had finally faded. Besides. I knew it would royally tick him off to wake up tomorrow and know he hadn't taken his watch. Maybe he used that time to be so 'zen', or maybe he _did_ write in a diary. Who knows, but he really was pushy about getting his turn.

I was still kind of moping in that self-serving way I do so well when I thought I heard some non-invasive rustling in the brush. Animals? Seemed likely. Still, I glanced around warily.

Nothing.

I tried to keep myself open to my surroundings. Look at nothing but see everything. All of those observation techniques that have been ground into me -literally, though bashing- simply by necessity.

But damn, lately I've been having such a hard time _focusing_. Most everything wound up going back to Fang.

Fang this, Fang that. It was awful.

Yeah, I totally admit he's a huge part of my life. I couldn't possibly imagine living without him, really. But that went for the whole flock.

But then again, the whole flock hadn't tried to kiss me.

Multiple times.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Well, _duh_, I felt weirded out. We're _best friends_. I didn't get why he had to keep pushing us into these situations in the first place. Was there something wrong with us just hanging out like always? Planning? Making sarcastic comments and witty retorts?

But then I remembered back at Anne's, when we _were_ like that, and how awful it felt. And then again in Antarctica.

Let's be rational.

On one hand, we have no time for any of this romance crapola, and Fang swooning after every pretty girl he saw was _not_ helping. Sexist pig.

And then, well, I had sorta raised all of us. I never needed much mothering or parenting myself, but the others did. Fang and Iggy included. I was only a few months older than the two of them, but I was always the most outspoken one. You thought Fang was quiet now? Well he _never_ spoke those days in the School. And Iggy hardly said anything either, not after how well his eye-operation went. I was the voice for all of them when they didn't have one. That's how it always was.

So I was definitely the leader, but did that make me the mom? With Angel I felt that way, and even with Gazzy. I used to feel that Nudge was very much my sister, but now that I actually _had_ one, I realized that wasn't quite right. Iggy was, I don't know, a brother of sorts.

Fang was harder to categorized.

Whenever I gave orders I figured Fang would listen, but it was always more at his whim. Iggy and everyone would normally go for it, no questions asked. But I'd have to answer to Fang at the end of the day. Sometimes it felt like he wasn't quite a part of the family like the rest of them were. Like he was just indulging me, like he was just along for the ride.

But brother/mother stuff aside, I figured I had some sort of stake in when and who Fang decided to get all disgusting and mushy with. It was okay to feel a lot of the things I was feeling. Besides, it wasn't like anything could ever get serious. Hello? Mutant bird-kids here. The wings would sort of throw a wrench into everything. And trust me, _no one _was going to be getting my permission to tell their 'loved one' about our fabulous upbringing any time soon. Jeezum, just imagining that conversation was giving me a headache.

And once through convincing myself of that in order to maintain my sanity, I was beyond glad that Fang couldn't read my mind. I did _not_ need him to know how much confusion he caused in my life. The egotistical jerk didn't deserve it.

I was midway through another mental tirade when I felt a hand, large and hairy and cold, wrap tightly around my mouth.

I always amaze myself with my ability to stay calm in these situations. Like, say one of you had been in my shoes at that second (let alone the rest of my life), you probably would have panicked or screamed or wet yourself.

What did I do?

I just thought 'God, how cliché is _this_?! Next he'll be whispering some nonsense about how I'd be quiet if I knew what was good for me.'

Sure enough, a voice said quietly in my ear -not a whisper though. I guess flyboys came with volume knobs now, "Say a word and you will die."

I can officially write a book on stereotypical villains! I think I'll get on that after I, you know, save the world and stuff.

And since I am _so_ good at taking orders, I did a few things I was sure he didn't want me to; first, I grabbed the wrist holding me captive and twisted _hard_, content when I heard a loud crack, and while that was happening, I used my feet to absolutely pound on the wall of the lean-to, knowing that my flock would be up and at 'em within seconds, and lastly, once free, I yelled for good measure, just because I know that if a flyboy could get pissed off, that would piss him off.

I heard a commotion below me and knew my gang were in serious mode. Probably not even a blearly eye in sight, bless them. With a solid punch to the back of the neck of my own nuisance, I managed to get a better jist of the situation.

There were around ten flyboys, none of which seemed to be armed, flooding around us, including the one who just fell into a heap at my feet. No big deal.

Except, of course, if I had been doing my _duty_ there would be _no_ flyboys parading on our nap-time. Or, at least, we would have been better-prepared.

Everyone seemed to be holding their own so I moved on to the nearest available target. I used my fury at myself as fuel for my punches, which was always a good course of action.

It was still raining, maddeningly so. The forest floor I'd jumped to was covered in leaves, which had become hazardously slippery. The water dropping from above steadily fell into my eyes, which was never a good thing.

To make matters even better, the amount of water was enough to hinder us, but not enough to bother the flyboys. Or maybe they were a new batch. It didn't really matter too much the 'whys', just that they were still able to be destroyed.

My mind was a breathless haze. Over the last five days I'd gotten probably that many hours of sleep, and my head had been reeling. Still, I scoped the small clearing, checking up on my flock.

Angel was safe behind Iggy, who was dishing out a very fluent series of punches to his flyboy. I missed erasers for a number of reasons, but most particularly was because Angel couldn't defend herself nearly as well against flyboys. Without a mind she couldn't control them, and mortal-combat had never been her strong suite. Normally one of us older kids would try to shove her behind us while we fought. She always got upset and wanted to kick butt too, but there was no helping it. Without her ace-in-the-hole things had become too dangerous to not keep a close eye on her.

Nudge was holding her own, pummeling a wolf-man-robot with about as much grace as a champion fighter, Total yipping excitedly at her heels. Her hair was sopping wet and she kept having to whip her hair back to keep it from her eyes. The only injury she seemed to have so far was a small scratch on her face, leaking just a bit of blood.

Gazzy was darting to and fro, tripping a flyboy here and then proceeding to soccer-star kick its mechanical face. On a 'could-be-gruesome' factor, it'd have been an easy 10. But these were robots; things were only gruesome in theory.

I dodged a quick upper-cut and returned it en-masse with a sweet punch to my attacker's midsection.

I had felt that we were doing fairly well and was glowing with that obscure pride that always afflicted me when I got to see my troopers fight. It wasn't something I would think many other people could feel realistically. The closest could probably be some sort of physical defense teacher watching his students, mixed with maybe when a mom goes to a kid's piano recital. But it wasn't pride in my own teachings, it was just pride that we simply were, that we could _survive._

Normally the highlight of these fights was Fang. He was superb at fighting, really. Sure, I could kick his bird-butt to Albuquerque and back, but he fought so differently than I did. We all had our styles; I'm more of a brute force and speed kind of girl myself, but Fang moves so fluidly. Each movement looks casual and informal, but I knew that every move Fang made, both in battle and otherwise, was fully thought out and intentional; each move Fang made had an express purpose -he hated wasting anything, even things as intangible as time and energy.

And when fighting, his sole purpose was to be as lethal as possible.

Seeing what I thought was a black hoodie behind me, I whipped around, the errant strands of hair that had fallen from my sloppy bun whipping past me.

Suddenly, without any warning, I felt a cold, dead hand clutch at my throat and push me up against the thick trunk of a closeby tree, a good foot off the ground.

I brought both my hands up, even my rigorous training couldn't prevent the split-second of sheer panic being throttled brought on. I tried to wedge my arms between his to loosen his grip but it seemed near impossible; the flyboy was holding me with every bit of his titanium grasp.

I gasped loudly, his fingers clenching even tighter and I found that I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even see. Black was quickly closing in the corners of my vision and the flyboy's hateful face was now dotted with white specs. I clawed at his hand desperately, too hyped on adrenaline to notice whether I was damaging them or not.

He brought his spare hand up languidly, flexing his fingers and even I could see the cruel points each of his nails ended in. But it was so dark now, were my eyes closed? And I had this awful throbbing in my head, and it almost sounded like I could hear the ocean now...I'd like to see the ocean again I think, every time we go to the beach things seem to go wrong though but I really love the way I feel next to the sea how small I feel and how free it makes me feel and the way it smells when the cool breeze ruffles through my hair and feathers...

Dimly, distantly, I heard a shout and it brought me back just enough to jerk my head back, painfully, against the tree trunk. My eyes were still closed and I felt a sort of coldness on my face. Oh right, the rain. I wanted to reach up to wipe it off because there really was too much of it when the pressure suffocating me suddenly disappeared and I fell bonelessly to the floor, wheezing and coughing.

I _felt_ the air, the life, return to my limbs and without warning was stuck with a terrible stinging on the right side of my face. Still heaving, I tasted copper on my lips and had a disturbing realization that the moisture I felt dripping down my chin was blood. Reaching up with shaking fingers I felt around my eye.

There was a huge gash running from above my eyebrow to the curve of my cheekbone, slicking straight over my eyelid.

Oh gross.

Still on autopilot, I tore a sleeve off my sweatshirt and make a makeshift bandage, tying it tightly but sloppily over my right eye but above my left. It didn't hurt much now but that was probably because of how jittery I still was. Even now I could see, with just my left eye, how much blood I've gotten all over myself.

But I had more clarity of thought now. The things I'd seen in the throes of death had lifted like a veil leaving me with just the notion that it had been Fang's voice I'd heard just seconds ago.

He'd saved me.

And the flyboy that was missing...

I jerked my head up and saw, just a few feet in front of me, Fang and the flyboy wrestling on the floor. It looked briefly like Fang was winning but then I noticed that he'd been pinned to the ground, the robot's full weight trapping his lower body, his left hand bleeding profusely and, as though he felt my gaze, he met my eyes for just a genetically-enhanced heartbeat before those lights went out and he screamed in pain.

The flyboy had just crushed his right hand with a sickening crack.

I rushed to get up but found myself unable to move. I was still choking and there were still dots dancing in my peripheral.

While Fang was reeling from the last blow, the wolf-human-robot reached up that same hand he'd used to try to tear my eye out and wrapped it securely around Fang's throat.

I had a very passing notion that _Jeeze don't these guys know how to actually fight? _before noticing that he wasn't trying to strangle Fang.

No, he'd taken his claws and pressed them into Fang's skin.

I gave one final surge of panic, allowing me to push off the ground and throw myself at the flyboy, hitting it with enough force that, upon hitting the ground, its head snapped back in an unpleasantly familiar way and he lied still.

But to my horror, it looked like it could have been too late.

There was already a nauseating amount of blood pooling around Fang where he lay crumpled and pale, pouring continuously from the gaping gouges in his throat.

**:x:**

_Funny, ain't it?  
Games people play,  
Scratch it, paint it,  
One in the same,_

**:x:**

I realize that if I keep the chapters reasonably short and manageable, I'm actually more likely to update! Wow! So like, this chapter was fun to write, but I'm excited about all of em, so let's see how we do, shall we? Also a cool note; for this chapter I actually drew a storyboard. I'm an art major so I have a degree of familiarity with these things and done them before, but never for conceptual work (let alone for something of mine!). I was surprised at how much more simple and easy it made the whole writing process!

PS: (I know a PS should be below a signature, but whatever) I love, love love torturing Max and Fang. There's just something so refreshing about it. Haaaaaaah.

Thank you for reading and please, all reviews are most welcome.

**:x:**

~hanyoupup


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